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Lays o/ 
QuaKerdom 



Lays of Quakerdom 



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LAYS of 
QUAKERDOM 

By 
"RUTH PLUMLET" 



Reprinted from 

The Knickerbocker 

OF 

1853-54-55 



THE BIDDLE PRESS 
Philadelphia 




.PnL5 



I. The Execution of Mary Dyer. 

II. Visit of Mary Fisher to the 
Sultan Mohammed IV. 

III. James Parnell, 

The Quaker Proto-Martyr. 



THE EXECUTION OF MARY DYER, 
AT BOSTON, JUNE FIRST, 1660. 

Mary Dyer was a respectable woman, the wife 
of a reputable inhabitant of Rhode Island, and the 
mother of several children. Believing it to be her duty 
to accompany two friends to Boston, to induce the au- 
thorities to repeal the sanguinary laws against Quakers 
and other dissenters, they went there in September, 
1659. The three were arrested "for being Quakers," 
tried as heretics, and banished under pain of death, 
being allowed two days to depart. Found subsequently 
within the jurisdiction, they were again arrested and 
sentenced to death. The two men were executed on 
the afternoon of October twenty-seventh, and their dead 
bodies subjected to the most revolting indignities; 
denied burial, or coffins, or clothing, they were thrown 
naked into a pit, which happening to fill with water, 
alone protected them from beasts of prey. 

Mary Dyer was reprieved under the gallows at 
the intercession of her son, and sent home; but return- 
ing in April following, she was again arrested, the 
sentence confirmed, and led to execution on the morning 
of June first, i66o. 

The distance to the gallows was one mile ; and the 
drums were ordered to beat whenever she attempted to 
speak on her way thither. On the scaflFold her life was 
again offered her, if she would forever depart the juris- 
diction ; but she could not accept such conditions. 

Her meekness, Christian endurance, and death, 
aroused great sympathy in the colonies, as well as in 
England, and she was the last but one of the Quakers 
put to death in America, for the royal mandamus of 
Charles II., requiring their liberation from prison and 
exemption from persecution, was signed by the King, 
September ninth, 1660, and proclaimed in New Eng- 
land about two months after; whereupon the Quakers 
held a general thanksgiving in Boston. 

History has few examples of greater suffering, or 
of higher heroism, than were endured and exhibited 
by the early Quakers in various parts of the world. 



THE EXECUTION OF MARY DYER, 
AT BOSTON, JUNE FIRST, 1660. 

I. 
il%ITH his household, quaint and simple, 
11/ In his manly prime, 

By the fire-light sat a Quaker, 

In the winter time ; 
Moved in feeling by the pealing 

Of the Christmas chime: 
Little looked he to the outward; 

Feasts and holy days, 
To his inward faith and worship. 

Were as worldly ways; 
But he scoffed not at the symbols 

Of the people's praise. 
Little loved he art or music. 

And his fire-light falls. 
In fantastic shape and semblance, 

O'er ungarnished walls: 
But he loved the blessed teaching 

Which the chime recalls. 
All so still he sate, and solemn, 

While his own high thought. 
Thronged upon his ample forehead, 

Such a stillness wrought. 
That the mystic spell of Silence 

All around him caught. 
Sweetly looked they in that circle, 

Wife and children three; 
Two brave boys beside the mother 

Hushed their boyish glee; 



Lays of Quakerdom 

And a fair young girl was kneeling 
At her father's knee. 

II. 

Outward, with its sweet evangel 

On the ear of Time, 
Upward far, to meet the star-light, 

Swept the sounding chime, 
As the centuries shall hear it 

Ever more, sublime. 
From the ages dim and distant, 

Through the pealing bell, 
Rolled anew the inspirations 

From His lips that fell. 
On the ancient Mount of Olives, 

By Samaria's well, 
While the echo star-ward dying. 

Seemed each martyr's knell. 

HI. 

"Father, tell us of the Quakers," 

(Did the children say,) 
"How the cruel Pilgrim rulers 

Drove the Friends away; 
Tell us how they whipped and killed them 

In that olden day, 
When they hung poor Mary Dyer — 

Cruel men were they." 

IV. 

Fearful was the inward conflict 

Ere he made reply. 
For his nature, brave and martial, 

Broke so bold and high 

6 



The Execution of Mary Dyer 

Into flame along his forehead, 

Lightning from his eye, 
As the martyrs of his people 

Passed in spirit by, 
Looked he like a warrior waiting 

For the battle-cry. 
So the fiery indignation 

Through his pulses ran, 
For a moment, ere the Christian 

Triumphed o'er the Man; 
And his tones were deep and thrilling 

As the tale began: 



Sate the Puritanic rulers, 

In a stately row, 
Endicott^ with scowl and scorning 

On his lip and brow. 
While a herd of vulgar bigots 

Thronged the court below; 
Then came Michelson the Marshal, 

Filled with savage ire. 
Through the motley crowd of gazers. 

Thrusting Mary Dyer^ 
With her quiet, grave demeanor. 

In her quaint attire; 
As the people pressed asunder 

Round her foot-steps close, 
From the bar she gazed serenely 

O'er a host of foes ; 
Then, the clerk commanding silence, 

Endicott arose: 



Lays of Quaker dom 

VI. 

"Are you that same Mary Dyer^ 
With blasphemous breath, 

Whom our erring mercy saving 
From the gulf beneath, 

Banished from the jurisdiction 
Under pain of death?" 

Calm and steadfast then she answered; 

"Truly I am she, 
Whom your General Court appointed 

To the gallows-tree. 
Where ye sent our faithful martyrs 

When ye banished me. 
Lo! I come again to bid ye 

Set GoD^s servants free !" 

"By the council that condemned you 

You were fairly tried ; 
And we reaffirm the sentence," 

Endicott replied: 
"In the prison until morning 

Safely you abide; 
Then, be hanged upon the gallows 

Where your brethren died. 
Look not for a second respite — 

Hope for aid from none; 
Fixed the awful fate that waits you 

With to-morrow's sun." 

"Then," replied she, slow and solemn, 

'^Let God's tuill he done; 
To the power that kills the body 
8 



The Execution of Mary Dyer 

He hath bid us yield; 
Weapons of a carnal warfare 

Are not ours to wield; 
He will clothe us in His armor — 

Guard us with His shield." 

vn. 

Then she seemed to rise in stature, 

And her look was high ; 
And there was a light of glory 

Beaming from her eye, 
As she were by angel-presence 

Touched to prophecy. 
Startled by the transformation 

Sate the rulers proud ; 
Wondering at her awful beauty 

Gazed the vulgar crowd; 
While her words went through the stillness, 

Ringing clear and loud. 

vni. 

"Now I feel prophetic visions 

Filling all my soul : 
In their light the mists and shadows 

From the future roll. 
Lol I see a power arising 

Ye shall not control; 
E'en the Lord of Hosts^ in mercy, 

Seeking all your land; 
Judge and ruler, priest and people, 

In His presence stand; 
And your boasted power He holdeth 

In His mighty hand. 



Lays of Quakerdom 

Cease your cruel persecutions 

Ere these days expire, 
And He cometh in His judgments 

With consuming fire, 
As of old He came to Edom, 

To Sidon and to Tyre, 
And ye reap a bloody harvest, 

Reap as ye have sown. 
And the lofty spires ye builded 

Reel and thunder down, 
And the woe of desolation 

Fills your ruined town; 
In deserted habitations 

Only Death may dwell 
When God leaveth no one living 

Of His wrath to tell. 
Cease, oh! cease your persecutions — 

All may yet be well." 
So she ended. Awe and silence 

0*er the council fell. 

IX. 

"And did God/' asked little Mary, 
"All the town destroy?" 

"Wait and hear the story ended," 

Said the elder boy: 
"If they ceased their persecutions, 

God would not destroy." 

X. 

Morning o'er the Pilgrim city 
Breaking still and sweet, 

10 



The Execution of Mary Dyer 

Heard the deep and mingled murmur 

Of the hurrying feet, 
And the voices of the people 

Thronging to the street; 
From afar the heavy rolling 

Of the muffled drum, 
With the measured tread of soldiers 

And the general hum, 
Warned the captive in the prison 

That the hour had come. 

All her simple garb arranging 

With a decent care, 
ICnelt she in a holy silence, 

Lost in secret prayer, 
While her radiant face attested 

God was with her there. 
At the Marshal's brutal summons 

Came she, firm and meek, 
Saying: "All this show to escort 

One so poor and weak?" 
But they beat the drums the louder 

When they heard her speak. 

XL 

Arms were clashing, eyes were flashing. 

In that thick array. 
As the Puritan exulting 

Rode along the way; 
For he led the hated Quaker 

To her death that day. 
Were they men, brave men, and noble, 

Chivalrous and high, 
11 



Lays of Quakerdom 

Marshaled thus against a Woman, 

And no champion by? 
Were they husbands, sons, and fathers, 

And their households nigh. 
When they led a Wife and Mother 

For her faith to die? 

XII. 
On the scaffold Mary Dyer 

Standeth silent now. 
With the martyr's crown of glory 

Kindling round her brow: 
And her meek face bent in pity 

On the crowd below: 
Then Priest Wilson^ full of scorning, 

Cried: "Repent! repent!" 
But she answered: "I have sought you, 

By our Father sent; 
Sought you, cruel persecutors. 

That you might repent." 

"Will you leave us, leave us ever, 

Vex us never more. 
If your vagrant life we give you, 

As we gave before: 
To your distant home and kindred 

Once again restore?" 

XIII. 
Moved the mighty deep within her 

For a little space. 
And a surge of human feeling 

Broke across her face ; 

12 



The Execution of Mary Dyer 

Then out-shone the greater glory 

Of the heavenly grace, 
As all loves of earth descended 

To their lower place, 
Seemed she in transfiguration; 

Such a light was shed, 
Like a halo from her spirit 

Round about her head, 
That o'er all the ghastly gibbet 

The effulgence spread. 

XIV. 
Then one Webb^ the burly captain, 

Rising roughly said: 
"Mary^ be your blood upon you; 

Falsely you are led; 
By the Law, which you have broken, 

Not by us, 'tis shed." 
And he gave the fearful signal, 

While she meekly bowed: 
Fell the fatal drop beneath her; 

Women shrieked aloud, 
And a cold and dismal shudder 

Ran through all the crowd. 

XV. 

For the people stood awe-stricken 
When the deed was done ; 

Some who seemed to feel a shadow 
Stealing o'er the sun, 

Feared the dreaded day of vengeance 
Had that hour begun ; 

Some believed they saw the spirit 
13 



Lays of Quakerdom 

With their outward eyes, 
In its shining shape and semblance 

Glorified, arise. 
With a slow majestic motion 

Floating to the skies; 
Ever upward, upward ever, 

Star-like, out of view. 
Smiling as it joined the angels, 

Smiling still, adieu; 
And all these believed the martyr*s 

Faith and Word were true. 

XVI. 

Not in vain had Mary Dyer 

Lived and prophesied. 
For the noble Pilgrim people 

Curbed their ruler's pride. 
Though the scorned and hated Quakers 

Grew and multiplied. 
For their faith one other martyr 

Was the last who died. 



14 



VISIT OF MARY FISHER TO THE SULTAN 

MOHAMMED IV. 

AT ADRIANOPLE, 1658. 

Mary Fisher, on her return from New England, 
where she met severe treatment, set out on her mission to 
Mohammed IV., then encamped with his array without 
Adrianople. She reached Smyrna by sea, but the Eng- 
lish Consul sent her back to Venice, no doubt believ- 
ing her to be crazy, as most people are charitably sup- 
posed to be who are in advance of their times. From 
Venice she made her way by land, on foot, to Adria- 
nople, more than six hundred miles, through a country 
filled with soldiers and outlaws of every description; 
delivered her message to the Sultan, who assembled his 
stafiF, and received her in state, acknowledged her "mis- 
sion," and the truth of what she said, and requested her 
to stay in his dominions. Upon her declining to do so, 
he offered her escort to Constantinople, saying that the 
country was full of danger, and he would not, on any 
account, harm should come to her in his kingdom. She 
declined his escort, and reached Constantinople and 
England in safety. 

Some idea of the peril and privation of this journey 
may be had from Mary Montague's letters, who, as the 
wife of the English Ambassador, went to Adrianople 
nearly fifty years after Mary Fisher^s visit, and erron- 
eously states that she was the first Christian woman 
who had made the dangerous journey since the Greek 
Emperors, and Pope bewailed her as one environed by 
the greatest peril ; whereas, the heroic Quakeress, de- 
fended by no guard, under the auspices of no Govern- 
ment — save that which is above all kingdoms — made the 
journey half a century before; and it may indicate how 
contemptuous must have been the feeling at that time 
toward the Quakers, seeing that this act of true heroism 
was not known to Mary Montague, even under the 
circumstances of a similar journey from the same coun- 
try and city, and that no contemporaneous history re- 
cords it, or any tradition preserves it, save the "Memor- 
ials of the Meeting," if there was any, to which the 
simple Quaker returned her credentials, if she had any, 
saying she "had performed the service to the peace and 
satisfaction of her own mind." 



The Turkish power reached its height in the 
reign of Mohammed IV., at the successful termination 
of the siege of Candia, and began its decline in the 
same reign at the Turkish siege of Vienna, when 
SoBiESKi, King of Poland, came to the aid of Austria, 
and defeated the Turks with great slaughter. 

Mohammed IV. was subsequently deposed, and died 
in the Seraglio, after five years' seclusion. He was a 
great and splendid Monarch, who reigned nearly fifty 
years, in the early part of which he extended his do- 
minions and consolidated his power, reducing the jani- 
zaries of his kingdom, so long the dread of the ruler 
and the terror of the people. His speech on the occasion 
of his compulsory abdication, is a rare specimen of elo- 
quence. 



VISIT OF MARY FISHER TO THE 

SULTAN MOHAMMED IV. 

AT ADRIANOPLE, 1658. 

I. 

XT was Summer. Vapors golden 
Crowning all the regal hills, 

Hung like snowy veils of vestals 

Swaying o'er the singing rills, 
And along the Orient glowing 

Drew their rosy curtaining 
Backward from the sun, advancing 

To his Empire like a King. 
On the hillside lay the cattle 

Stretching in the golden glow. 
As it passed to wake the sleepers 

In the quiet vale below. 
Measured as the march of armies. 

Filed the shadows o'er the grain 
Bent beneath the spectral columns; 

Trooping in an endless train. 
Stately stood the trees, displaying 

Pearls upon their leafy stems; 
At the zephyrs' soft impleading. 

Flinging down their diadems 
To the humble grass beneath them 

In an ample wealth of gems. 
All the air was filled with fragrance. 

Breathing through the voice of song; 
Forth from hill, and stream, and woodland 

Rolled the morning hymn along. 

19 



Lays of Quakerdom 

II. 

In the country, calm and holy, 

When the Summer days were come, 
With his household sat the Quaker 

In their old paternal home ; 
Where the earth his fathers nourished 

Long upon her bounteous breast. 
When their simple lives were ended 

Held them in unbroken rest; 
Where primeval trees the homestead 

In their vast embraces fold; 
And within their solid fibres 

Annals of the ages hold; 
Ever to the life around them 

By the leafy minstrels told. 
Bending now, in stately gossip, 

With the wandering Summer breeze: 
Now in nobler strains relating 

Stories of the centuries; 
Now, like orators, declaiming, 

Swaying into awful form; 
Toss their arms and lift their voices 

O'er the tumult of the storm; 
All the day their lore repeating 

In the heedless ear of strife; 
All the night the calm stars listen 

To their minstrelsy of life. 

III. 

To the lindens o'er the threshold. 

On a glorious Summer day. 

Came the merry children bounding 

Fresh and blooming from their play; 
20 



Fisit of Mary Fisher 

Grouping round to hear their father 

Tell another Quaker Lay; 
Tell them how brave Mary Fisher 

To the Sultan bore her word; 
How the noble Turk received her 

And her Message from the Lord. 
Low voiced, from subdued emotion, 

Ballad like, the tale began; 
Sweetly in the Summer stillness 

Thus the simple story ran: 

IV. 

The Sultan Mahmoud lay encamped 

Within his guarded hold; 
Full fifty thousand men of war 

Were with their leader bold. 
Full fifty thousand cimetars 

Flashed in the waning light, 
And the brave Moslem only mourned 

Their weapons were so bright. 
Flung out above the royal camp 

Mohammed's flag revealed 
The shining crescent's silver rim 

Within its sacred field. 
Stretched in the opening of his tent 

The mighty Chief reclined; 
High purposes and vast designs 

Revolving in his mind. 
The shadow of the lofty thought 

Fell slowly o'er his face, 
And softened, in its noble lines. 

The fierceness of his race. 
On costly tapestries of the East 
21 



Lays of Quakerdom 

His royal person laid; 
And gleamed amid the Tyrian dyes 

His keen Damascus blade. 
The ample turban round his brow 

Leaned on his swarthy hand ; 
While his unconscious fingers plucked 

The jewels from the band. 
His eye was resting on the flag 

As in its shade he lay, 
Pondering on Islam* s vast renown 

And wide extended sway. 



For then the Crescent's shining arch 

Flamed in the tropic sun, 
And flashed where, up far Arctic nights. 

The northern streamers run. 
From distant Asia's peopled plains 

And mountain steppes, afar. 
Vast hordes of fierce believers came 

To Islam's holy war. 
And the Great Vizier Kirpuli 

Was marching to his liege, 
Triumphant with the trophies won 

At Candia's bloody siege. 
The armies of the Faithful held 

Their undisputed way. 
And the mute nations paled before 

The Moslem's dread array. 

VI. 

The Sultan dreamed of boundless power. 
To wield his conquering sword, 
22 



Visit of Mary Fisher 

And make the unbelievers own 

The Prophet of the Lord; 
To fling the banner of his Faith 

O'er Islam s ancient reign, 
Above the valleys of Castile, 

The mountain heights of Spain. 
In the great Temple of the Cross 

Marshal his Moslem force, 
And make its sacred fane at Rome 

A stable for his horse! 
The symbol of his perfect power. 

On Islam s flag unfurled. 
Behold the crescent, round, and rise. 

Full orbed, upon the world! 



VIL 

As thus he lay, an Aga came, 

With many a low salaam : 
"What wouldst thou now?" the Sultan said, 

In accent deep and calm; 
"Shadow of God: without the camp 

A Christian waits, abhorred. 
Who bringeth from her English home 

'A Message from the Lord."' 
They drove her thrice beyond the lines; 

Boldly again she came. 
Demanding audience calm and high, 

In Allah's holy name. 
"A woman, saidst thou ?" Mahmoud rose, 

Still leaning on his hand : 
"A woman, seeking Islam's shrine 

From her own Christian land ?'* 
23 



Lays of Quakerdom 

"Most mighty Sultan, one who would 

Your royal harem grace: 
Rich in the sweetness of her sex, 

The beauty of her race; 
But not to Mecca's holy shrine 

Her pilgrim foot-steps came: 
To preach the glory of the Cross 

In her own Prophet^s name; 
Not at the evening Namas bowed 

Her unbelieving head." 

"And came she to the camp alone?" 

"Alone!" the Aga said. 

"Thus saith the infidel : Arrived 

At Smyrna by the sea; 
Captive they sent her from the strand ; 

At Venice set her free. 
From thence on foot, two hundred leagues, 

Alone by night and day, 
Her journey through a war-like land 

A weary distance lay. 
(Our boldest Spahis could not ride 

Safely along that way.) 
Her Prophet gave her meat and drink, 

And nerved each sinking limb; 
In clouds by day, by night in fire, 

He bade her follow him 
To Adrianople's royal camp, 

(So saith her doubtful word,) 
To bring the Refuge of the world 

'A Message from the Lord! " 
24 



Fisit of Mary Fisher 

VIII. 
The Sultan mused awhile, and spoke: 

"Caimakin, God is God; 
What wouldst thou with this infidel?" 

"Chastise her with the rod!" 

Up to his feet the Sultan sprung; 

His glance was stern and high ; 
The Aga and Caimakin paled 

Before his flashing eye. 

"Now by my Father's soul," he said, 

"My own right royal arm 
Would from thy shoulders strike thy head, 

Shouldst thou that Christian harm. 
The Prophet's self had not inspired 

A sterner, loftier faith 
To lift a woman's soul above 

Danger, and toil, and death. 
She shall have audience. To our stafJ 

Our royal mandate bear ; 
We shall await them in our tent, 

After the morning prayer. 
See thou that noble Christian, then, 

Straight to our audience led ; 
And for her safety and repose 

Thou'lt answer with thy head." 

IX. 
Morning, beyond the eastern hills 
Her glorious march begun; 
25 



Lays of Quakerdom 

And Adrianople's hoty mosques 

Stood glittering in the sun. 
The loud Muezzins' pious call 

Fell from the minaret; 
Reverent the fierce believers all 

That sacred summons met. 
The standard of the Prophet swung 

Slowly upon the air, 
While its defenders in the camp 

Devoutly knelt in prayer. 

X. 

Alone, amid that turbaned host, 

By larger truth made free, 
The Christian, at the call, withheld 

The homage of her knee. 
Fierce bigots, with their eyes of fire, 

Saw her refuse to kneel ; 
And swarthy hands, unclasped from prayer 

Convulsive clutched the steel. 
Apart she sate, serene and still, 

Within the open tent; 
To that devout delusion round 

Respectful pity lent. 
Her spirit through the Sacred Courts 

Its own high path-way trod, 
In the still temple of the soul 

Communing with her God. 

XI. 

As thus she sate, the Aga came. 

By the Caimakin sent, 
To bid her, in the Sultan's name, 
26 



Visit of Mary Fisher 

Attend him In his tent. 
The fiery warriors, on her way, 

Gathered in silent wrath, 
And, motionless as forms of bronze, 

Ranged them along her path. 
Swarthy and grim on either side 

The breathing statues stood; 
Two lines of sabres, half unsheathed, 

Seemed thirsting for her blood. 
With folded hands and steady step, 

And eye in quiet, bent 
Upon the savage throng, she passed 

Into the royal tent. 

XII. 
The Sultan, on a raised Divan, 

Sat in his splendid state; 
Grouped in a crescent round the tent 

His staff and escort wait; 
Warriors of grave and noble mien 

Ranged as they ranked in fame. 
Who to that audience with the Giaour 

Slow and reluctant came. 
Rich draperies of Damascus hung 

In many an ample fold; 
(Old triumphs on their emerald ground 

Were wrought in gems and gold), 
That backward from the Sultan's seat 

Were looped on either hand; 
The Mufti and Caimakin stood 

Beside each jeweled band. 
The Koran on a frame of pearl 

Its sacred page displayed; 

27 



Lays of Quakerdom 

The Greek Dragoman, wafting near, 
Profound obeisance made. 

XIII. 

Amid the dazzling splendor round, 

In sweet and solemn mood, 
The Quaker, in her humble garb, 

Serene and simple stood, 
Despite the Aga's frequent sign 

To make her low salaam ; 
Respectful, but unmoved remained, 

Silent, and firm, and calm. 

XIV. 

^'Christian" at length the Sultan said, 
"We wait to hear thy word : 

Declare it, neither less nor more. 

Thy 'Message from the Lord/ " 

So still she stood, again he said: 

"Speak what thou hast to say ; 
If these rude warriors waken dread, 

My staff alone shall stay. 
Speak freely, we have hearts to feel, 

And ears prepared to hear; 
And be thy message good or ill, 

Speak, thou hast none to fear." 

"I seek," she said, "the Life within. 

Where strength and wisdom lie, 

To give my utterance weight, and power, 
And unction, from on high." 

28 



Fisit of Mary Fisher 

Gravely the listening Moslem heard, 
And patient and sedate; 

Waiting the Christian's farther word 
The turbaned warriors sate. 

XV. 

Below, the encampment seemed to lay, 

That morning, hushed and still; 
The distant chargers' friendly neigh 

Came faintly up the hill. 
With sound of steel that peaceful rung 

From restless Spahis nigh. 
As some impatient horseman flung 

His burnished armor by. 
The ancient Hebrus rolled along 

By the old cypress groves. 
From whose deep shade the turtle's song 

Proclaimed its peaceful loves. 
The sun-light fell in waves of gold 

In all that bounteous clime. 
Where melody and fragrance hold 

Perpetual Summer-time. 
As Nature to that scene of strife 

Her holiest influence lent, 
Subdued, the fierce surrounding life 

Throbbed through the silent tent. 

XVI. 

A light upon the Christian's face 

From her rapt spirit broke: 

And slowly, with unconscious grace 
And solemn power, she spoke: 



Lays of Quaker dom 

XVII. 

"Bold follower of thy Prophet, hear 

The Message of the Lord; 
Ye men of carnal war, give ear 

Unto his living word. 
The Holy Spirit bade me leave 

My home and native land, 
Bearing God^s message in my heart, 

My life within my hand ; 
Led me in fire through dreary nights, 

In clouds through burning days; 
O'er pathless deeps and mountain heights, 

And by untraveled ways; 
To bid your Sultan in his youth 

Seek an immortal crown. 
And build in God^s eternal truth 

Your glory and renown: 
To wield the great and growing power, 

Vouchsafed you from above. 
To help establish in the earth 

Justice, and Truth, and Love; 
To leave your heathen ways, and live 

The husband and the wife. 
Around the sacred hearth of home 

A higher, holier life. 
God made the union of the twain 

When first the race began; 
Forever shall His act remain 

The marriage law of man. 
God bids thee, great and mighty King, 

Thy wars and fightings cease, 
And thy victorious armies bring 

To the pursuits of peace; 

30 



Fisit of Mary Fisher 

A greater than thy Prophet speaks; 

Hear thou His living word: 
'Make of thy spear a pruning hook, 

A plough-share of thy sword. 
Thou mak'st a wilderness to howl 

Where peopled cities stood, 
And marchest through the affrighted earth 

In surging seas of blood. 
Before thee, horror and despair, 

Ruin and death behind; 
Famine and pestilence are there. 

Thou scourge of human kind !" 

XVHI. 

Clear and distinct her utterance fell 

Upon the stillness round ; 
The turbaned warriors half uprose 

To catch the startling sound; 
As the Dragoman passed her words 

Into their native tongue, 
To strike the bold blasphemer down 

A score of warriors sprung. 
A ring of quivering sabres gleamed, 

Grasped in each swarthy hand 
But the bold bigots quailed before 

The Sultan's high command. 
A moment, o'er the Christian's head 

The flashing weapons hung; 
Then each within its sheath of steel 

Keen and reluctant rung. 

Unmoved and calm the Qw2^|^ stood, 
But Death, as he arew nigh, 

31 



Lays of Quakerdom 

Heightened the radiance of her face, 

The lustre of her eye ; 
Deepened her clear and thrilling tone, 

That o'er the turbaned throng, 
Obedient to the Sultan's sign, 

Unfaltering, rolled along. 

XX. 

" 'Tis written, and forever makes 

Part of God's holy Word, 
'Whoso the sword of warfare takes 

Shall perish by the sword.* 
Your cities stand upon the dust 

Of nations passed away, 
W^ho perished wholly; for their trust 

In carnal weapons lay. 
Israelj an alien, o'er the earth 

Wanders without a home ; 
Lo! where are Persia, Syria now, 

Egypt, and Greece, and Rome? 
Forever lost to Time and Life! 

Thus God fulfills His Word; 
'Whoso shall take the sword in strife 

Shall perish by the sword,' 
Islam shall not escape the woe 

Of those who build by wrong; 
Strong as thou art, great Sultan, know 

That God is great and strong; 
For principalities, nor powers, 

Nor heights, nor depths untrod ; 
Things past, nor present, nor to come, 

Lii|iit the power of God. 
Turn thou to peace! or God shall wring 

32 



Visit of Mary Fisher 

The sceptre from thy hand, 
And the great woe of nations bring 

Upon thy favored land. 
Then shall your Crescent's light go down 

In darkness and In blood ; 
Forgot, your glory and renown. 

Where once your temples stood." 

XXI. 

She ceased ; and though above the throng 

A solemn silence fell. 
Deep in the hangings of the tent 

Her utterance seemed to dwell. 
Pale as a prophetess she stood; 

Her eyes were filled with light; 
Mutely the wondering warriors gazed. 

The presence was so bright. 
The aged Mufti stroked his beard, 

Pondering on what he saw: 
"An infidel! so filled with power 

Without His holy law!" 

XXII. 

"Christian," the Sultan said, "we see 

The Great God gives thee words. 

Dwell in our land; we welcome thee; 
Thy Message IS the Lord's/* 

"Great Sultan, may thy people own 

The Word of Truth I brought; 

In peace I leave you, and alone. 

Even as your camp I sought." 



Lays of Quakerdom 

"Escort to Stamboul thou shalt have, 
Escort, the best of mine; 

I would not, for an hundred lives. 

That harm should come to thine." 

"Ho! Kizlar-Aga, bid thy staff 

Send me a thousand horse! 
The Spahis of our yellow flag, 

The boldest of their force; 
And bid them hither; Morah, bring 

My noble Arab mare; 
Brave Christian, Morah will be proud 

Courage like thine to bear." 

XXIII. 
Moved by his generous words, she said: 

"I thank thee, noble Turk; 
I do not need thy men of war 

To do my Master s work; 
His arm is underneath me still ; 

He is my staff and guide; 
Legions of angels, at His will, 

Shall gather to my side. 
Now peace be with you from above; 

Peace in your councils dwell; 
For in our common Father's love 

I bid you all — farewell!" 

She turned, and, meekly and sedate, 
Passed slowly from the tent. 

While the great Sultan, where he sate, 
In salutation bent. 

Thoughtful, unconscious that his hand 
34 



Visit of Mary Fisher 

Rested upon his sword, 
He sate, revolving in his mind 

The Christian's fearless word. 
Lifting his eye, the Crescent's light — 

Kindling above him then — 
Flashed inward through its quiet depths. 

And fired his soul again. 

XXIV. 

Who seek to know, the record tells 

That Quaker, traveling far. 
Went peaceful to her English home; 

The Sultan went to war: 
And at Vienna's fearful siege, 

On many a dreadful field, 
Before the soldiers of the Cross 

Beheld his armies yield; 
And, as without, relentless foes 

Humbled his power and pride; 
Within, as stormy factions rose. 

Beset on every side, * 

By Adrianople's mosque, resigned 

His sceptre and his sword; 
And dying, pondered in his mind 

That Message from the Lord. 

XXV. 

Two hundred years! The Sultan rests 
Upon his tomb of state; 

While Islam's Empire rocks around 
Upon the brink of fate. 

Beyond the Balkan mountains high 
Its ancient foemen throng; 

35 



Lays of Quakerdom 

Their drum-note echoes, rolling by, 

Lo! "God is great and strong!" 

Around her lessening lines, and near 
The nation's clashing swords, 

Repeat in Islam's startled ear: 

"That Message was the Lord's!" 

XXVI. 

Two hundred years! The Quaker sleeps 

Within her nameless grave; 
But a whole kindred people keeps 

Her memory pure and brave. 
The while, her "Faith of Peace and Love* 

That feebly then began, 
Grows with the world's great life to be 

The common Faith of man. 



36 



JAMES PARNELL, 

The ^aker Proto- Martyr. 

James Parnell was born in Nottingham, England, 
of humble parents, but he possessed good abilities and a 
liberal education. 

When George Fox was imprisoned in Carlisle, in 
1653, Parnell, then in his seventeenth year, was among 
those who visited the great Quaker in prison, and the 
result was the conversion of the young visitor to the 
faith of the Quakers, of which he afterward became an 
eminent expounder, and for which he was the first 
martyr. 

Parnell began to preach before he was seventeen 
years old, and, in pursuance of his mission, went to 
Cambridge about April, 1655, where he was challenged 
by the Baptists to public disputation: the fame of his 
eloquence and power had preceded him. 

The meeting was held, but resulted in little discus- 
sion and much disturbance, chiefly (according to Par- 
nell) from "brutish scholars who plotted against me, 
and from Baptists and Independents who, though bit- 
ter enemies to each other, were joined friends against 
me." 

He continued preaching, disputing and exhorting 
during fourteen days, when he was committed to jail 
by William Pickering, Mayor of Cambridge, on a 
charge "of issuing two papers, one against the corrup- 
tions of the ministry, and one against the corruption of 
the magistracy." 

They kept him confined, and "tossed from prison 
to dungeon," during two whole sessions, when, a jury 
finding nothing against him, he was discharged, with a 
"pass" under the title of "Rogue," and conducted three 
miles out of the city. Subsequently he returned to Cam- 
bridge, and continued in that vicinity for about six 
months, preaching to great assemblies of people, and, 
through opposition and persecution, establishing many 
in his faith. 



From Cambridge he went to Essex, to be present at 
a "public meeting and fast held at Great Coggeshall 
by order of the authorities, to counteract the wicked 
heresies of the Quakers." There he preached and ex- 
horted for about a week to many thousands of people 
who thronged to hear him, until he was arrested by 
Justice Wakering, in the name of the Lord Protector, 
and committed to the common jail as a mover of sedi- 
tions, and blasphemer, near the middle of July, 1655. 

Here he was closely confined for some weeks and 
denied all communication with his friends, until the 
next Chelmsford Assizes, when he was chained beside 
one suspected of murder, on a chain with five others, 
where he remained night and day, as they marched 
through the country to the court, about twenty miles 
distant. 

The people were surprised at his treatment, and the 
Court, to prevent the expression of any sympathy for 
him, ordered the irons removed from his hands when 
he was brought to trial. 

He was then arraigned, charged with blasphemy 
and sedition; and at the trial his old persecutors in- 
fluenced the judge and jury by malicious statements, to 
which he was not allowed to reply, and upon his ac- 
quittal by the jury. Judge Hills committed him for con- 
tempt of magistracy and priesthood and fined him 
heavily. 

He was then removed to Colchester Castle, and sub- 
jected to systematic cruelty and outrages inconceivable 
to us at this day. Denied a bed, he was obliged to lie 
on the bare stones of the prison, where, in wet weather, 
the walls were dripping with water, and during the 
cold of winter he was almost deprived of clothing, fre- 
quently of food, beaten until he was nearly insensible 
by the jailor and keeper, all his friends denied access 
to him, and not permitted to relieve his sufFerings. He 
was placed in a "Hole in the wall," which was prob- 
ably the recess of the window, quite deep, as the walls 
are nine feet thick. This "recess" was so high from 
the stone floor, that he was obliged to reach it part way 
by a ladder, which, being six feet too short, a rope at 
the upper end aided him to his wretched abode. The 
keeper would not allow him a basket and string, which 
his friends desired to furnish, to draw his food up to 



him, and he was therefore compelled to ascend the rope 
with one hand and carry his provisions in the other, 
which he did with great difficulty, being a person of 
small stature and feeble frame, much weakened by long 
exposure and privation. 

On one occasion, when attempting to grasp the rope, 
it eluded his hand, and he fell with great force upon 
the pavement below, by which he was seriously injured. 
He was then placed in a recess nearer the ground, and 
left to die. 

His case was powerfully represented to Cromwell's 
government, and several Quakers oflFered to lie in his 
place, but no mitigation of his punishment could be ob- 
tained, nor any concession but the admission of two 
Friends to see him die, but who were refused permission 
to remove his body, which was buried in the castle-yard 
by the jailor's assistants. 

He died in the spring of 1656, after incredible suf- 
fering, when only nineteen years old, exhorting his 
friends to "keep the faith," saying he had "seen great 
things" and beseeching them in his last moments, "not 
to hold him: to let him go!" 

So he departed, leaving his name to be numbered 
with tho; e who in all ages have lived, and labored, and 
suffered jar the spiritual emancipation of man. 



JAMES PARNELL, 
The ^aker Proto- Martyr, 

"^■Tj^T was June ; her bloom and beauty 

I Then the queenly month displayed, 
^ And in her rich robes of summer 

All the joyous earth arrayed. 
Now the Quaker, near his homestead, 

In the woodland, on the hill. 
Stood beside the stream proclaiming 

All its mission to the mill. 
Busy, down beneath the chestnuts, 

By the meadows green and still, 
There, the willows, o'er the water — 

Loving patrons of the stream — 
Bend to see it run and ramble, 

Or to watch it sleep and dream ; 
Never weary of its music. 

Glad to hear it sing along ; 
All their lines of grace and beauty 

Waving plaudits of the song. 
But the statelier beech and maple 

To the hill-side group withdrew. 
Where the old oak, vast and rugged, 

In his simple grandeur grew. 
There the pines, with solemn voices, 

Speak the oracles of Fate, 
And the walnuts, like old warders, 

Guard the arch-way of the gate; 
And the spectral Lombard poplars. 

Stately as old gaints stand, 
Wasting, with the woes of exile. 

Slowly, in a foreign land; 

43 



Lays of Quaker dorn 

While the aspen, all a-tremble 

With a trouble never told, 
Seeks the sweet acacia, swaying 

With its fringing bloom of gold: 
And the elms above the threshold 

Drape the old and mossy eaves; 
And the maples feel the sunlight 

Streaming on their silver leaves. 

Now^ beneath the stately arches 

Of the old boughs, high and wide, 
Southward, as the morning marches, 

Shifting to the shaded side, 
Calm and happy sat the Quaker, 

With his ample forehead bare, 
Silent, in the softened sunlight, 

And the balmy summer air; 
Listening to the ringing laughter 

Of his daughter, young and fair : 
While the mother sat, serenely 

Smiling in maternal pride 
At the elder brother, kneeling 

On the green grass by her side. 
With a tender, reverent feeling 

Gazed he on her placid face. 
Where the spirits, outward looking, 

Had the sweet and quiet grace 
Of a strong soul, gathered inward 

From the storm of worldly strife. 
Never shaken, never drifting 

From the centre of its life. 
At her feet the mastifl lying. 

Stretched upon his grassy bed, 
44 



James Parnell 

Held the younger brother resting, 
Pillowed on his stately head. 

Now the children, grouped in stillness 

Round their father's ample chair, 
Waited for another story. 

Promised when they gathered there; 
How young Parnell preached and suffered 

For the holy cause of Truth ; 
And, a captive, poor and lonely. 

Perished in his early youth. 
How, within his narrow prison. 

In Colchester's castle- wall. 
Died the first of Quaker martyrs. 

And the youngest of them all. 

"Autumn, o*er the land of England, 

Saw the fields of ripening com. 
Waiting for the reaper's sickle. 

Waving in the breath of morn. 
And it saw a holier harvest; 

For the mighty Master then 
Bade His own anointed reapers 

Gather in the souls of men. 
Lo! the fields were white already. 

But the laborers were few; 
And some trembled as they entered 

On that service, high and new. 
Some there were who, strong and steady, 

Trod the narrow line of right ; 
Shining, in an age of darkness, 

Sons and daughters of the light. 
One there was, a youth, and noble, 

45 



Lays of Quakerdom 

Though he came of humble blood, 
Who, with manhood's high endurance, 

At his post of duty stood. 
Frail of form, and fair in feature, 

On his face the bloom of youth 
Blended with the beauty breaking 

Outward from a soul of truth. 
Learned he was, and filled with wisdom. 

Sweet and eloquent of tongue; 
And the thronging people marveled 

At the power of one so young. 
To them, all around him swaying 

On the still mid-summer morn, 
Much he spake of that old Gospel 

To these latter ages borne. 
Much he reasoned, much disputed 

With the vast and heaving crowd. 
Which a furious priesthood troubled 

By its scorning fierce and loud: 
'Hear ye how this fellow raileth 

In the very house of prayer? 
Shall the Church of God be sacred ? 

Are not we his servants there? 
See! this man defiles the altar: 

At your peril hear ye him.' " 



Then the people, drunk with passion, 

Surged upon him, fierce and grim; 

But he held their rage suspended 

By the simple power of truth ; 

Till, from awe, were some who listened, 
Some, from pity of his youth. 
46 



James Parnell 

Then his manly voice ascended 

O'er the slow-subsiding din; 
And he spake with powder and freedom 

Of the "Glorious Light Within." 
Lo! this is the Christ, the Teacher! 

He will teach you of His ways: 
This is that out-pouring Spirit 

Promised in these latter days. 
Now the old shall dwell in visions, 

And the young shall prophesy; 
And ye all may feel, ye people. 

That the power of God is nigh; 
Nigh, within your hearts and spirits. 

As the great Apostle said : 
Save in fearful sin and trespass 

Ye be reprobate and dead. 
Think you, in your steeple houses 

God's eternal presence stands? 
Nay! He dwelleth not in temples 

Made by any human hands. 
But your bodies are His temples, 

And His holy Church is one: 
Every soul redeemed becometh 

In its walls a living stone; 
And His Spirit now ordaineth 

Preachers of His word again 
Not your priesthood, formed and fashioned 

By the carnal wills of men; 
Prophets who divine for money, 

Prieachers who do preach for hire ; 
And (j0D''s judgments shall consume them, 

Like the "chaff before the fire." 
Then the angry priests and rulers 

47 



Lays of Quakerdom 

Cried again, in greater wrath: 
"Shall this babbler and blasphemer 

Linger longer in your path?" 

But the people were divided, 

Tossed and heaving to and fro; 
Some believed an evil spirit 

Sought them, from the realms below. 
Some believed a prophet risen. 

With the power of ancient days; 
These, amid the wild commqjtion, 

Stood in silent awe and praise. 

One, a maiden, with her tresses 

From her fair face backward flung; 
With clasped hands, and pale lips parted, 

Ever on his accents hung; 
And a matron, on whom rested 

Some great sorrow's sombre hue, 
Stood in light, as one illumined 

By a glorious hope, and new; 
And a white haired peasant murmured, 

Bowed by labor and by years, 
As his hard hand from the furrows 

Of his rough face brushed the tears, 
"Lo! mine eyes have seen Thy glory; 

Now I wait for my release; 
In my day Thy Gospel liveth ; 

Let Thy servant rest in peace." 
Thoughtful, with his bare arms folded 

On his broad and brawny breast. 
Stood a stalwart yeoman, kindling 

With a dawning hope of rest. 

48 



James Parnell 

"Can this be the day of promise? 

Will the Thousand Years begin? 
Shall this prophet, born among us, 

Bring that glorious promise in?" 

"Tut! man! but he has a devil," 

Growled an old and surly boor. 
"Devils do not," said another, 

"Preach the Gospel to the poor." 
"Have our herdsmen grown to prophets?" 

Asked a proud and haughty dame. 
"Few of old," the matron answered, 

"Of the great and noble came." 
"When ye follow this man's teaching," 

Said a townsman, worldly wise, 
"Ye shall see our nation's greatness 

Sinking never more to rise." 

While among themselves disputing, 

Some in anger, rude and loud ; 
As, his present mission ended. 

Slowly Parnell left the crowd, 
Then one Justice Wakering to him 

In hot haste and passion came. 
Saying roughly, "I arrest you 

In the Lord Protector's name; 
For you do but sow seditions 

Where your wicked railings fall." 
Nothing moved, he only answered, 

"So Tertullus said of Paul."" 

Then they led him to their prison — 
To that dismal den of sin; 

49 



Lays of Quakerdom 

He, so pure and young and simple, 

Thurst with thieves and felons in. 
Where a brutal herd around him 

With low scoff and cursing came, 
Jest obscene and ribald laughter, 

Seeming lost to fear or shame. 
"Heigh oh! who is this new comer?" 

Said one, ruder than the rest. 
"Room, ye gentles! room and welcome 

For a new and stately guest. 
Ha ! what have we here ? a Quaker ! 

Quake, ye culprits! quake for fear. 
Come, Sir Preacher, give 's a sermon ; 

Marry! much we need it here." 
"Silence!" growled a burly felon; 

"Let that puny boy alone. 
Can your coward hearts discover 

No arms equal to your own?" 
Then the Quaker saw the tumult 

Into savage brawling break; 
But, intrepid, sweet, and earnest. 

In their very midst he spake : 

"Men and brethren, poor and sinful. 

Wanderers from the way of right, 
Have ye nothing left to live for. 

But to swear, and brawl, and fight? 
Though ye seem of men forsaken, 

God is dwelling near to you, 
And He seeth, with your evil, 

All the little good ye do. 
Ever in your souls His Spirit 

With your sinful purpose strives ; 

50 



James Parnell 

And He seeketh thus to win you 

Back to better, happier lives. 
Listen to His holy teaching, 

Ere your cups of woe be full : 
'Though your sins are as the scarlet, 

He will make them white as wool.' 
To your low estates He bringeth 

Power and pity from above, 
Greater than all human mercy, 

Stronger than all human love. 
Some among ye may remember 

When ye walked in purer ways ; 
Or beside your mothers prattled. 

In your childhood's happy days. 
Ye must now become as children. 

And your better lives begin; 
Then these outward bonds shall vanish, 

And your stronger bonds within." 

Low and clear through all the prison 

Fell his sweet and simple word, 
And the astonished felons round him 

Ceased their brawling as they heard. 
Some with half-clenched hands suspended 

Held them from the brutal blow; 
Some, by gentle accents melted, 

Bowed in silent sorrow low. 
Some did weep to feel upon them 

Swift and crowning memories come; 
Life mis-spent, its treasures wasted; 

Love and peace, and hope and home. 
"Is it?" said that burly felon. 

With his tears upon his cheeks, 
51 



Lays of Quakerdom 

Quivering lip and utterance broken, 

"Is it man or angel speaks?" 
Some unmoved and stony hearted 

Shrunk to angles of the room; 
Still, but sullen and defiant, 

Crouching in their native gloom. 
While the Quaker, calm and peaceful, 

By the heavenly presence blest, 
Stretched him on his prison pallet, 

To a sweet, unbroken rest. 

In that gloomy jail, and loathsome. 

Many a weary week he lay; 
Then they led him to his trial, 

Led him with their thieves away. 
In the felons' gang they chained him. 

With the vilest of the vile; 
Side by side along the highway 

Thus they traveled many a mile. 
From the base and cruel thraldom, 

Unreleased by day or night. 
Worn and weary in the body, 

But in spirit strong and bright. 
So they came to ancient Chelmsford, 

Where in irons, day by day. 
Waiting for the near assizes, 

In the common jail he lay. 

Now with deepening tints the autumn 
Touched the old majestic wood, 

And the sylvan kings enfolded 

In their dying drapery stood, 

Impotent as some old giant, 
52 



James Parnell 

Shorn of all his fiery hair. 
Bald and round the sun ascended 

Through the still and misty air, 
With his bonds of wreathing vapor 

Struggling for his summer sway; 
But pale flower and leaf enfeebled 

Felt his power had passed away. 

Sadder than the waning season 

Grew each manly spirit then ; 
Colder, darker than the vapors 

Bigotries enshrouded men. 
To their court they led the Quaker, 

In his iron fetters bound; 
As he passed the people wondered 

At the clanking shackles' sound. 
"Is this man among the felons? 

He so simple and so good ; 
Though he be a canting Quaker, 

Are his hands imbrued in blood ?" 
Thus the pitying people murmured 

At such outrage in their land, 
Till the judges bade the jailer 

Strike the shackles from his hand. 

Then his cruel foes arraigned him, 

Charged with great and grievous crimes: 
Heresies and dread seditions, 

Fearful in their turbid times. 
"Much," they said, "he taught the people. 

From the Church to set them free ; 
And with deep and fierce invective 

Spake against the powers that be." 
53 



Lays of Quaker dom 

Round the judge each persecutor 

Whispered his malicious word, 
And against him court and jury 

With their savage hatred stirred. 
Friend or counsel they denied him, 

And his simple right to speak ; 
Lone he stood, and undefended. 

Like his Master, still and meek. 

Then the jury found him guiltless; 

But the judge in anger spake, 
Saying, "This man and his people 

Every law and ritual break. 
For his bold contempt of rulers, 

And his scoff at things divine, 
We commit him at discretion 

To imprisonment and fine!" 
Silent Parnell heard the sentence. 

But he looked so calm and high. 
As they led him back to prison, 

There to linger and to die! 
O'er Colchester Castle's threshold 

Then he entered to his doom; 
When again he passed the portal. 

Passed he to his nameless tomb. 

Oh! it was a shame and sorrow. 

When in England people saw 

Men for conscience sake imprisoned, 
In the name of God and law. 

They have learned a better lesson 
In these latter days of light. 

When the noble English people 
54 



James Parnell 

Champion Europe for the right. 
Still Colchester's Castle turrets 

Old and gray in Essex stand ; 
Still in feudal isolation, 

Frowning o'er the cultured land, 
'Leagured by those old besiegers. 

Winter's wind and summer's rain ; 
While around, the peaceful reapers 

Sing upon the wide domain; 
Undisturbed the ivy clambers 

Over all the massive towers, 
And along the moat and rampart 

Sporting children hide in flowers. 

But within the same old prison 

Yawns amid perpetual gloom, 
With insatiate jaws of granite. 

Dismal as a living tomb. 
Since the old days when the Romans 

Held them with imperial sway. 
In these walls had many a captive 

Breathed his wretched life away. 
Here the loyal Lucas perished. 

And the brave and noble Llisle ; 
What time Fairfax with his Round-heads 

Tramped along the castle aisle. 
But of all the noble number. 

Who the coming death defied, 
Never one like Parnell suffered. 

Never one like Parnell died. 

When the winter winds were sweeping 
Round the castle's massive walls, 
55 



Lays of Quaker dom 

Shrieking in at grated casements, 

Howling through the antique halls; 
In the vast and vaulted chambers, 

Ever sighing, faint and low; 
Through the close and dismal dungeons, 

Wailing dirge-like, sad and slow ; 
Still in mournful cadence blending. 

Like a mighty human moan, 
As of spirits, yet imprisoned 

In the huge and solid stone; 
With the woes of all its victims 

So the castle seemed to groan. 

Sick and sleepless Parnell lying 

Through the mid-night's chill and gloom, 
In the winter's sullen summons, 

Heard his own approaching doom. 
Months had passed : no hope of pardon 

To the patient prisoner came. 
Though to rulers many a pleader 

Spake his sufferings and his name. 
Never was such intercession 

Made for any in that day; 
Of his people some did proffer 

In his very stead to stay. 
But the rulers' hearts were hardened. 

For the land was filled with strife, 
And the dread of civil warfare 

Cheapened every human life. 

So they heeded not the Quaker, 

Who with steadfast faith and love 
Bade his suffering people gather 



James Parnell 

Strength and counsel from above. 
All the while his persecutors 

Seemed in every torment skilled, 
And the jailer and the keeper 

With a fiendish fury filled. 
Now with brutal stripes they beat him ; 

Now his food they bore away, 
Till in sickness, starved and bleeding, 

On the stony floor he lay. 
Couch and raiment then denied him. 

Though his parting hour seemed nigh ; 
Friends and kindred all excluded, 

Thus they left him there to die. 

But yet unsubdued, his spirit, 

With a calm and mighty will, 
Held the body's failing pulses, 

Beating in their channels still : 
Beating weaker, beating slower. 

As the great soul, day by day. 
With a sense of power and triumph. 

Kept the gloomy king at bay. 
Thus in that tremendous conflict 

Wore his last long night away. 

Morning came: it cometh slowly 

Through the gloom of prison bars. 
When all night the captive keepeth 

His lone vigil of the stars. 
Morning came, and over England 

Brought the vapors on the breeze. 
With a lazy motion rolling 

Inward from the circling seas ; 
57 



Lays of Quakerdom 

Onward, upward slowly drifting, 

Folding round the castle wall; 
Swathing massive tow^er and turret, 

Dense and heavy, like a pall ; 
Driving through the prison grating. 

With a keen and cutting chill, 
Where, amid the shivering dampness 

Parnell lay, so weak and still ; 
While around the heavy vapor, 

(Piercing feeble nerve and bone), 
Drop by drop, condensed and trickled 

Dow^n the cold and flinty stone. 
In the stifling air the martyr 

Slower drew his laboring breath, 
And upon his pallid forehead 

Lay the heavy dews of death. 

Then to soothe his parting moments 

Loving friends in stillness came, 
Whom his cruel foes admitted 

To his cell, for very shame. 
On the old familiar faces 

Sweetly fell his dying smile, 
As he said, "I linger with you 

But a very little while; 
Keep the faith and fight the battle. 

For the crown awaits you: lo! 
I behold the glory breaking! 

Do NOT HOLD me! LeT ME Go!" 

Then they seemed to see the prison 

With a sudden radiance bright, 
As from some transcendent presence, 

58 



James Parnell 

Passing in a flood of light ; 
And amid the awful splendor, 

Each pale watcher held his breath ; 
But within the gloom returning 

Stood that mighty victor — Death ! 

So he perished — that young martyr: 

Save his people, few beside 
Of the busy world remember 

That he ever lived or died. 
But a true man lives forever 

In the great heart of the race, 
With a slow but certain justice. 

Finding his appointed place. 
And in that time when the peoples 

Shall recall their great and true, 
And the dead of all the ages 

Summon to that high review ; 
When the world shall seek its jewels. 

For the Future's glorious crown, 
And the hand of higher manhood 

Write each noble story down; 
In that swiftly-coming era. 

When it calls the splendid roll 
Of all those who lived and suffered 

For the freedom of the soul; 
Then in that time with the jewels. 

And in answer to the call. 
Shall appear the youthful martyr 

Of Colchester s Castle-wall. 



59 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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